9. Dom
9
dom
I drove to the shelter bright and early, anticipation riding me hard. It was the first of my three days off, and instead of sleeping in and working out like I normally would, I was doing something far more satisfying.
Some of the guys and I were meeting up to start the repairs we’d said we’d help with. Not only were we doing something worthwhile, but we were creating content for the website and social media posts Gina was putting together. Lucia had said it was a golden opportunity to drum up interest and get more eyes on the place.
Of course, I had an ulterior motive as well—seeing Ella. I needed to know if this attraction I felt was real and if Ella felt it too. I was pretty sure it was and that she did, but the only way to confirm it was for us to spend time together. I had so many questions. I wanted to know everything about her, and I wanted her to get to know me. The real me. The one who was tired of the flings and one-night stands and longed for a genuine connection.
I pulled into the lot right about the same time Keegan did. Joe was with him. No sign of Chas yet—thank God. I didn’t need to worry about him hitting on my girl.
Not that Ella was my girl.
Yet.
The point was, the less distractions, the better.
The place was busy, so after checking in with Ben, we decided to start in the old wing, where we wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. The steps were rickety, protesting with creaks and groans as our heavy footsteps descended. The farther down we went, the stronger the scents of damp stone and earth became, mixing with the pungent, lingering aroma of an electrical fire.
The stairs led us into a large underground room. At the base, a single light bulb dangled from a wooden beam—the only functional source of illumination I could see. The shiny new electrical box stood out in the gloom like a sore thumb.
The place had a creepy vibe, like something I’d seen in a horror movie. I couldn’t help but imagine how Ella must have felt, coming down here in the dark that night, with sparks flying and smoke gathering above her head.
I swung my powerful flashlight around, ignoring the prickle at the back of my neck. The space was dark, damp, and cluttered, filled with decades of junk. Dozens of cardboard boxes stuffed with files. Stacks of old newspapers, tied with twine and yellowed with age. Bits and pieces of broken furniture strewn about, like there had been a bar fight and everyone just left things where they had fallen. And cobwebs. Lots and lots of cobwebs, some as thick as Rasta braids. The place was a firefighter’s nightmare. I shuddered to think what might have happened if Ella hadn’t shut things down when she did.
After locating the other fixtures and replacing the bulbs, we got to it. Working together, we methodically cleared out the junk. Lifting and hauling. Sorting and stacking. Carrying all those boxes up the flight of stairs turned out to be a good workout.
It was mindless work though, and my thoughts kept returning to Ella. I kept hoping I’d run into her with each trip to the ground floor. That maybe I’d see her lingering in a doorway, the way she had when Gina surreptitiously captured that image.
Which was another reason why I wanted to see her. Things hadn’t been what they appeared, and I didn’t want Ella thinking they were. There was only one woman I was interested in, and that was her.
It took several hours, but we got rid of most of the junk. The basement was far less of a fire hazard by the time we were done. We even managed to shore up the stairs.
We were just finishing up when one of the staff called down to tell us that there were pizzas in the break room—a thank-you for our efforts. It wasn’t necessary, but appreciated. My growling stomach agreed wholeheartedly.
Covered in dirt, sweat, and cobwebs as I was, I opted for a quick washup in the restroom once I got to the first floor. I wanted to look decent in case Ella showed.
I’d been running scenarios through my mind all day. At the risk of sounding full of myself, a slow smile and my innate charm were usually all I needed, but that hadn’t worked with Ella. Besides, I didn’t want her to see me as that guy. I wanted her to know that my interest was sincere.
In other words, my actions had to speak louder than my reputation.
So, there I was, hanging in the employee break room, wolfing down a few slices with Keegan and Joe while keeping a weather eye on the door. Staff dropped in and partook as well. Some I recognized from the photo shoot, others I’d met when we did the tour a few days back.
They were a friendly, down-to-earth bunch, easy to get along with. Some were a little too friendly.
Like the trio of young women who clung together like a pack of she-wolves, for example. One in particular seemed determined to chat me up, leaning in close and taking every opportunity to make “incidental” contact. That was exactly what I didn’t want. What if Ella came by and misunderstood the situation again?
I subtly tried to put distance between us, but she wasn’t having any of it. Carrie was what I inwardly referred to as a grade-A clinger—hard to remove once they attached themselves. I was trying to come up with a polite way to excuse myself when the solution presented itself.
Chas strolled in, using the bottom half of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead and exposing his abs in the process. Admittedly, the guy was ripped. His blatant peacocking was usually a source of amusement, but in this case, it provided the distraction I needed to slip out, unnoticed.
The need to see Ella was greater than ever and riding me hard.
Moving down the corridor, I glanced into various rooms and open doors, but the one I sought remained elusive. I had to consider the possibility that she wasn’t around. But even as the thought occurred to me, I knew that wasn’t the case. It was as if I could sense her.
I headed to her little hole-in-the-wall office, no longer content with waiting for her to come and find me. The door was ajar, so I knocked lightly on the frame. Receiving no answer, I poked my head in. Empty.
Disappointed, I backed out and resumed my wandering. This section of the building was quiet and secluded, away from the hustle and bustle of daytime activity. I could understand why Ella liked working back here.
A faint aroma coming from farther down the corridor had my nostrils flaring. As far as I knew, there was no reason I should be smelling the herbs and spices of marinara. Curious and hopeful, I followed my nose.
The scent led me to a small hidden section of the old wing—not far from where I’d spent much of the day. That door was ajar too. I didn’t knock this time but peered in, finally finding the source of my current obsession.
Ella was standing in front of a hot plate, spoon in hand, stirring something in a small pan.
“Hey,” I said softly, not wanting to spook her.
When she didn’t respond, Gina’s words came back to me. “Why didn’t you tell us Ella was hard of hearing?”
I should just leave, but my feet wouldn’t move. Rather than the formless scrubs she usually wore, she was dressed in curve-hugging black yoga pants and an oversize T-shirt. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, exposing the delicate curve of her neck—and a tattoo just beneath her hairline. A flock of tiny birds taking flight, maybe? The urge to get a closer look—and maybe trace it with my tongue—was nearly overwhelming.
I needed to get myself under control before I did something stupid. Forcing my eyes away, I scanned the room and tried to distract my inner caveman. The place was set up like a studio apartment. A twin bed in the corner. Nightstand beside it. A folding table and chair that took up the majority of the six-by-ten kitchenette.
Holy Madonna . Ella lived here. That was why she had been on-site the night of the fire. She was here every night, watching over the animals.
But why was she staying here in this outdated excuse for a ’70s-era crash pad? Was that part of her job, in addition to managing the place?
With my protective instincts surging once again, my eyes went back to Ella. Only then did I realize what she was cooking. That spicy aroma I’d smelled? It was pasta … from a can ! I knew such things existed, but having grown up as I had in an authentic Italian restaurant, I was horrified.
It was at that moment Ella decided to turn around. Pan in one hand, spoon in the other, she promptly stepped back into the counter and dropped both, absolute terror in her eyes.
“It’s okay,” I said, putting my hands up as watery sauce splattered across the worn tiles. “It’s just me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She stared at me for long seconds, her chest heaving with heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”
I could have lied. I could have told her I was wandering around and lost my way. But I wanted her to believe I was sincere, right?
I cleared my throat. “I was looking for you actually.”
“Why?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. For all the scenarios I’d envisioned throughout the day, I was at a loss. I opted for cautious honesty. “I didn’t see you today. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her features softened. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”
I shook my head. “Clearly, you’re not fine. You’re eating pasta from a can. That is not okay; it’s not even on the spectrum of being okay.”
Her lips quirked. It was a small movement, but I felt like doing a fist pump.
She turned and grabbed a roll of paper towels.
I crossed the space before I could stop myself. “Here, let me help.”
“No, I got it.”
“It’s partially my fault.”
“It’s completely your fault,” she said, crouching down to scoop the offensive material off the floor and back into the pan. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
When she didn’t respond, I tapped her shoulder until she looked at me. “I didn’t mean to,” I repeated.
Because I was watching her so closely, I saw everything in those expressive black diamond eyes. Mortification that I’d discovered her secret. Then resignation. And, dare I say, relief.
“It’s okay. As you’ve no doubt ascertained, I don’t hear all that well.”
“You hide it well, but why hide it at all?”
She shrugged and lowered her eyes. I decided not to push. Hopefully, she’d trust me enough to confide in me eventually.
We cleaned up in silence, dumping the mess exactly where it belonged—in the trash. Then I realized the golden opportunity it had presented.
“Since I ruined your”—my mouth twisted in disgust—“ dinner , let me make it up to you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I have more.” She opened one of the cupboard doors and revealed half a dozen similar cans.
I shuddered and squeezed my eyes shut. “Please stop. I can’t bear it.”
She made this beautiful sound. Like music. I opened my eyes to find her laughing. In that moment, I felt ten feet tall. I resolved then and there to ensure this woman laughed every day, even if it meant I had to embarrass myself to make it happen.
“Please, let me take you to dinner. I know this place. Best Italian food you’ve ever had, I promise.”
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I can’t.”
Her mouth said no, but her eyes and her growling stomach said yes. I just had to sweeten the pot.
“ Ossobuco alla milanese ,” I said provocatively. “ Bistecca alla fiorentina . Lasagna al forno . Polenta e brasato .”
Her eyes grew darker with desire at each dish I mentioned.
“I’ll even cook it for you if you allow it.”
Her eyes popped open. “ You ?” she said, her tone one of disbelief.
“Don’t look so shocked. My family owns Mama C’s. Learning la buona cucina italiana was nonnegotiable.”
She bit her lip. She was so close.
“Come on. What do you say?” I coaxed. “Just a quiet dinner away from this place. No expectations other than a fantastic meal.”
I gave her my best puppy eyes. “Please, Ella. You won’t regret it. I promise,” I vowed, and deep in my chest, it felt like exactly that—a vow.